Christmas Jewels
by EvanescingSky
Summary: Erik gives Christine a stunning gift for Christmas and she feels guilty that she hasn't gotten him anything, so she plans something extra special!


Christmas Jewels

Christmas Day in Paris, France dawned early and cold. A light coating of snow dusted the city of light and the sky was a gray, cloudy sort. All around the city, children woke with screams of excitement, couples opened their eyes to gaze tenderly at each other, merry carolers marched through the streets…however, there was one man who did not see the sunrise. Who, in fact, had little indication of the passing of time, due to the unquenchable darkness in which he lived. However, he would have perhaps been unaware of the sunrise even if he had resided above ground, as he was currently dozing off behind his station. He had kept a religious post behind the mirror all night, so eager was he to deliver his Christmas gift to his beloved sweetheart. This man was the Phantom of the Opera.

Erik knew it was stupid to wait up all night for Christine to show up. In fact, the way her mere presence turned him from a reasonable adult into a giddy child, bursting with pride to show off his Christmas gifts almost alarmed him. So there he was, sitting on the cold ground behind the mirror, falling asleep against the wall.

He was in such a state when Christine walked through the door, having, as Erik had planned, forgotten her only pair of gloves the night before. He jolted awake as the door opened and jumped to his feet.

"Christine," he called her softly, letting his voice drift into the room; smooth and musical as always. Normally he would let her find it on her own, but today he was filled with anxiety that she wouldn't see it and he'd have to wait until after the Christmas break from rehearsals to see her reaction to it.

"Angel?" she looked around, her angelic brown eyes wide.

"Come to me, my angel of music," he purred. "I have a gift for you. It's on the vanity."

Christine made a beeline for the vanity table and immediately saw the unassuming box, tied with red ribbon. She carefully unwrapped it and saw a magnificent sapphire necklace. A soft gasp emanated from her plump lips.

"Oh, Angel! It's perfect! Where did you get such a thing?" she looked around in wonder and awe. Erik smiled to himself. Oh, if only she knew! She was such a sweet thing, truly, to be so honored by his gift. Of course, he wouldn't have given it to anyone else.

"I have my ways," he said mysteriously. Suddenly her face fell and instantly Erik felt sick. Was something wrong? Had he chosen the wrong jewel? Did she not like it? She had seemed so happy a moment ago! Blast it!

"Oh, but Angel, now I feel awful…I haven't gotten you anything!" she cried. Erik let out a silent breath of relief. That was all!

"That's not necessary Christine," he said gallantly, loving the sound of her name on his lips. It was sweet, like a colorful Christmas candy. "It was my pleasure to get you the necklace."

"It must have cost a fortune…" she murmured.

"Don't worry about that!" Erik snapped. Why couldn't she just be happy with it? Why all these questions and worries?

"Of course. Forgive me. I'll put it on right now." She moved back in front of the mirror and fastened the necklace around her throat. "Does it look alright?"

_Alright? Alright? God almighty! _It looked stunning. The sapphires glinted off her snow white throat, perfectly complimenting her beautiful blue eyes and pale complexion. For several moments Erik was speechless, shocked again into silence by her utter perfection. Then he cleared his throat.

"It looks marvelous, my child," he replied.

"Oooh! I must get you something, Angel, or I shan't forgive myself for this rudeness!" She grabbed her gloves and made for the door, dashing out with her skirts swishing around her ankles before Erik could tell her not to go.

"Your presence was enough for me," he said gloomily to himself. But at least this promised a second return, another visit from his angel! That thought brightened him considerably, but it seemed like forever away when she might come back. So he shuffled down to his cave to get some rest before she did.

He kept his nap quick and light so that he could rush back up the steps to wait behind the mirror for her imminent arrival. It was several hours before she returned and by then Erik was stiff and sore from waiting in the cold stone tunnel. She bore a wicker basket on one arm and Erik's curiosity burned. What gift would she find suitable for an Angel of Music?

"Angel?" she called softly.

"I am here, child," he responded.

"I've come back…and I brought you some food. Would you let me in?" She stood expectantly in front of the mirror and suddenly Erik was flustered. He hadn't planned on this at all! It was wonderful, of course, that his angel wanted to spend time with him, but it was horrible all at the same time! Nothing was ready! He hadn't prepared for this! He grabbed for the switch, knowing he couldn't deny this to her- not with her face shinning with hope, but edged with the fear that he'd turn her away. He saw a slight redness, a burn on her finger and flinched. She must have cooked this herself…He opened up the mirror and bowed to her, bidding her enter his lair.

"Welcome, Christine," he said graciously. She smiled, making his head spin and delicately stepped inside the tunnel. They were so close as she passed! So close he could see the spokes in her dazzling irises! She started down the path and he watched her, confused. "I must admit, my dear, you puzzle me," he said, following her and quickly matching his long stride to hers. "I was under the impression you went to find me a suitable Christmas gift."

"I did," she said, sounding proud of herself. She glanced diffidently up at him from the corners of her eyes. _Oh, Christine! You're going to kill me! _While he tried to remember how to breathe, Christine continued. "My present is spending the night with you."

Erik almost choked. "Excuse me?" he asked weakly.

"It makes me so sad to think of you here all alone on Christmas," she said, a slight pout in her voice, as though she sensed a lecture coming. "It isn't right. Everyone should have someone to be with on Christmas!"

_And what of Raoul?_ The words were on his tongue, but he bit them back. This night, if she was going to give it, was to belong to him and Christine. The fop was not going to be a part of it, even in passing mention.

"If that's what you want," he said carefully.

"It is," she said, strangely confident. She kept pace with him until they reached the lake and he relieved her of her basket so she could climb in. Warmth rose from the basket and a delicious smell wafted up to him as he handed it back.

As soon as they reached the other side, she got out and set about closing the organ lid and spreading a checkered blanket over it.

"What are you doing, Christine?" Erik sounded amused.

"Well you don't have a table!" she said petulantly. "What can I do? We'll have to eat here."

Erik almost protested, but then thought _What's the harm? Maybe she'll spill something on my organ? So what? I can clean it._ So he stood by and watched her carefully set everything up. She set out plates of croissants, a noodle dish and withdrew a bottle of wine from the basket. _What else has she got in there?_ Erik wondered.

"Ready!" Christine trilled.

Erik sat down hesitantly on the organ bench and Christine settled down beside him. He had to force himself to swallow his throat was so dry and come up with compliments for her cooking. He didn't taste a bite of it. How could he? How could he focus on anything when he could feel her warmth right next to him? When strands of her hair touched his shoulder?

She chattered on eagerly through dinner about her plans in the opera and he listened politely, nodding and praising her at all the appropriate moments. They were down to just glasses of wine by now.

"And Madame Giry told us this poem…I forget what it was called but it sounded so dark…I was angry with my friend, I told my wrath, my wrath died… or something like that," she recited.

"Allow me," Erik said.

"'I was angry with my friend  
>I told my wrath, my wrath did end.<br>I was angry with my foe  
>I told it not, my wrath did grow.<p>

I watered it with fears night and morning  
>With my tears and sunned it with smiles<br>And soft, deceitful wiles

It grew both day and night  
>Until it bore an apple bright<br>My foe beheld it shine  
>And knew that it was mine<p>

Into my garden he stole  
>When night veiled the pole<br>In the morning glad I see  
>My foe outstretched beneath the tree'. William Blake, 1794."<p>

Christine clapped. "That was wonderful! How did you know? You just seem to know everything," she teased.

Erik smiled at her. "That, my dear, I got from a book." He rose smoothly to his feet and strode off to a corner of his lair, retrieving the survey of British literature from which the poem came.

"Oh! Read me one!" Christine begged.

Erik consented.

"'My Love is of a birth as rare  
>As 'tis, for object, strange and high;<br>It was begotten by Despair,  
>Upon Impossibility.<p>

Magnanimous Despair alone  
>Could show me so divine a thing,<br>Where feeble hope could ne'er have flown,  
>But vainly flapped its tinsel wing.<p>

And yet I quickly might arrive  
>Where my extended soul is fixed;<br>But Fate does iron wedges drive,  
>And always crowds itself betwixt.<p>

For Fate with jealous eye does see  
>Two perfect loves, nor lets them close ;<br>Their union would her ruin be,  
>And her tyrannic power depose.<p>

And therefore her decrees of steel  
>Us as the distant poles have placed,<br>(Though Love's whole world on us doth wheel),  
>Not by themselves to be embraced,<p>

Unless the giddy heaven fall,  
>And earth some new convulsion tear.<br>And, us to join, the world should all  
>Be cramp'd into a planisphere.<p>

As lines, so love's oblique, may well  
>Themselves in every angle greet :<br>But ours, so truly parallel,  
>Though infinite, can never meet.<p>

Therefore the love which us doth bind,  
>But Fate so enviously debars,<br>Is the conjunction of the mind,  
>And opposition of the stars.' That was Andrew Marvell."<p>

"Beautiful!" Christine cried. She paused a moment. "Oh! You know what we must do tonight? We must sing Christmas carols!"

Alright, now she was just being ridiculous.

"Christine, my angel, I really don't think that's necessary," he said.

"Of course it is!" She was getting herself all worked up and excited now, pacing eagerly back and forth. "We can go up to the roof, where no one will see us," she pleaded. "We have to see the stars on Christmas night! Oh, please Angel, please!" she cried.

How could he deny her this? When it took so little effort from him; a small venture outside his comfort zone, and made her so joyous?

"As you wish," he said, striving to keep the weary tone from his voice. Christine clapped her hands in delight.

"Let's go then!" She grabbed for her pink cloak and tied it on as she rushed down towards the boat. Sometimes Christine's presence made him feel much younger; sometimes, like now, it made him feel like an old man. He trailed after her and picked up the oar, moving as slowly as a sulking child.

He led her through a winding series of passages and staircases, finally emerging on the roof of the opera house. Christine followed him unquestioningly, trusting her angel to lead her safely. It made his heart quake to think how easily she could be duped! She was so trusting! He thought to scold her for that, but decided that on this night, he would refrain. It could wait.

"It's so beautiful!" she exalted, spinning around on the frosty rooftop. Her golden hair streamed out around her and knocked Erik breathless with her beauty, her perfection.

"Yes, it is," he agreed quietly, moving to stand beside Apollo's Lyre. Christine bounced over to him from the edge.

"What shall we start with?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Whatever pleases my angel most," Erik replied. Christine blushed and smiled demurely.

"I think…God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen," she decided. Erik nodded.

"An excellent choice, my dear."

They started with that and ran through every Christmas song Christine could think of. Erik tried to shirk at first, but Christine scolded him and made him sing louder, more passionately because "I KNOW you can." She laughed and twirled about and sang in a voice so lovely it was heartbreaking to hear.

But the best was when she took Erik's hand and pulled him into her little dance. He was so startled he stumbled after her in a rare moment of clumsiness, nearly falling down the small step. Christine arranged their hands and started to dance them around. Fortunately Erik's feet were able to follow on their own, because his mind was shot through with this whole episode. How could it be possible? How could he be dancing with Christine? She was an angel and he…he was Faust! He had sold his soul to the devil! And yet she willingly touched him, danced and sang and ate with him…was there such a thing as a Christmas miracle?

Even after she released him, rubbing her arms, he felt the places where she had touched him with her hands burning as though she had branded him. But he kicked his brain back into gear and removed his own cloak, offering it to her.

"You must be cold, Christine. We should go back inside," he chided softly. Christine nodded, cupping her hands over her mouth and blowing her warm breath on them. Erik thought to carry her as the tired child shuffled after him, but he was reluctant to initiate any touching between them whilst she was conscious.

So he led her, yawning, back down from the dazzling, godly beauty of the starry skies and snow-covered city to the dank blackness of his world, of his hell. She lit up the cellars like Aphrodite, spreading her joy and childish innocence like a tongue of fire, offering warmth and comfort. It made Erik's heart ache with longing to belong to her world, to be able to court her as he wished, to shower her with gifts and affection as the comte de Chagny was allowed to do. He didn't even feel the usual burn of anger that it was impossible; he just felt weary. Weary of this trying, cruel world which would deny him everything he desired, even the love of an awe-struck young woman.

Christine was unaware of these increasingly dark thoughts as they descended. When they arrived back in the lair, she removed Erik's cloak and laid it on the piano bench along with her own. She cast a glance over the dinner utensils scattered about the organ. "I should clean up now."

"You don't have to-" Erik began, but Christine held a finger to her lips.

"You need to rest some, Angel," she scolded gently. "Go sit down on the bed and I'll clean." Her face brooked no further argument, so Erik acquiesced. Christine moved quietly about, stowing things back in her basket. Erik felt a panic rise up in his chest as he realized she would be leaving soon. He watched her almost unblinkingly, afraid to take his eyes off of her for a moment, lest she vanish. She approached him quickly and he feared terribly her goodbye. He began to get to his feet, but she thrust out the poetry book towards him.

"Read me some more?" she asked shyly.

_Oh, dear Christine!_ What could he say with her great doe eyes upon him?

"Of course I shall," he said softly. She scampered around to the other edge of the bed and sat down, curling up against the pillow like an excited child. He shivered at her nearness, at her presence on his bed, but she seemed to think nothing of it. _Oh, Christine,_ he groaned inwardly. _If you only knew the impure thoughts I think of you! You would never forgive me!_

But he put those aside and flipped the book open to begin reading. He kept his eyes latched upon the book, for fear he'd lose his train of thought if he looked over at the beautiful girl-woman-beside him. It happened alarmingly often when he was near her. So it was because of this that he didn't notice her subtly scooting closer with each verse until her head drooped onto his shoulder. His first reaction was to jerk away violently, but he managed to keep still and realized she had fallen asleep. How long had passed? Time ceased to have meaning when he was with Christine-just as life ceased its meaning when she was gone.

"Christine?" he said softly. "Christine?" She didn't stir. He was torn. Part of him wanted to shift her into a more comfortable position and move away-he wasn't fit to touch his angel like this. The other part wanted to savor this moment for as long as she would let him have it. In the end, he decided not to wake her. He slid down a little to rest his head on a pillow and closed his eyes so as not to alarm her with his gaze if she woke. Just feeling her next to him, her soft blonde curls falling over his shoulder was enough.

Perhaps God had decided he had suffered enough to earn this small reward. This little Christmas gift of having Christine with him for a day. He smiled to himself. _That's enough for me. This is all I need._ This joy would get him through another year. And there would be Christine, of course. And perhaps, as was his painful hope, one day she would do this without fear, without ignorance, and then he could truly allow himself to forget past injustices.


End file.
